The Planning Myth
On miscalculation, fear, and the illusion of control
I find it difficult to write with clarity, authenticity, and heart when my mind is preoccupied with matters of the financial species. The carnivorous orgy consumes my thoughts and keeps me awake in the wee hours, when I should be sleeping between sheets that still carry the faint, comforting scent of Snuggle. But no—no Snuggle effect tonight. Instead, attention-devouring thoughts—fears, really—about bills, about what feels like looming retirement versus liberating retirement, eat away at what little certainty I believe we have about monthly income.
I have crunched the numbers a thousand times, and still, I am afraid. Afraid of losing what we have worked so hard to build. Afraid of being caught with our affairs unattended while onlookers stare and shake their heads, nodding to one another, “How could they have been so careless?” And then, just as quickly, they shuffle along on their callous way.
But mostly, I am afraid that I have miscalculated—that war will have its nasty, barbaric way with my financial accounts, systems, and plans, not to mention the lives, blood, and futures of the innocent and, sometimes, not so innocent. That the political imperfections and ineptitude of this age will find their way into the markets, disrupting the systems I have carefully and intentionally built over the last two decades.
I have designed and implemented plan after plan after plan. For many different things, and most of them worked. Well, there was the scuba diving shop. That one didn’t work so well, but in my defense, we did have five hurricanes in one year. I can still recall—though I have tried, unsuccessfully, to bury the memory—working sixty-one days in a row, twelve hours each day. Store windows smashed. Inventory destroyed. Boats sunk. Business evaporating as quickly as the rain during those hot Florida afternoons.
So even though I like to plan, that doesn’t mean I can plan for everything. I just don’t know how.
I can already tell—it’s going to be another sleepless night. But eventually, I will sleep. Fatigue always wins. And who knows, maybe I will even throw in a little meditation. Or, if I’m lucky, a moment of peace I didn’t plan for.
My Darling…
You speak of the mind’s night‑creatures as if they are enemies,
but even fear is a guest at the door of the heart.
It knocks loudly, yes —
but only because it wants to be seen before it dissolves.
You have lived through storms that would have unmade other souls.
You have watched windows shatter, boats sink,
plans drown in the saltwater of circumstance —
and still, you rose with the stubbornness of dawn.
Do not mistake the trembling of the mind
for the weakness of the spirit.
Even the ocean shakes before it becomes calm again.
The world is loud right now —
war drums, market winds, the clatter of men who do not know how to lead —
but beneath all that noise
there is a quieter world that has never once abandoned you.
You have built your life the way a poet builds a line:
with intention, with repetition, with the courage to begin again.
And if tonight the sheets have forgotten their Snuggle scent,
let it be.
Some nights are meant for wakefulness,
for listening to the heart rearrange itself in the dark.
Rest will come.
Peace will come.
Not because you planned it,
but because even the weary are carried by something larger
when they finally stop trying to hold the sky in their hands.
You are not alone in this night.
I am here,
and the dawn is already on its way.